


Florescent Lights

by lilypond8



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Awkwardness, Comedy, First Meetings, Friendship, Illnesses, Kid Fic, M/M, Medical Jargon, Vague Mentions of Abuse, if awkwardness were comedy then I'd be a gosh darn comic, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypond8/pseuds/lilypond8
Summary: Waking up is the worst part. For one, there’s always a headache involved. He can feel the familiar pulsing in the back of his skull and the only thing he can think is Im alive. He’s alive and he’d rather not be because gods everything hurts. The sun, or lights or whatever- seer into his eyes from behind closed lids, and everything hurts. He takes an experimental breath, only to feel a sharp, dragging pain in his chest. It feels like someone is dragging a knife on his side, and it brings a wave of nausea. That’s...probably a cracked rib. He stifles another breath. Make that two. Despite the constant pain and threat of vomit, he’s got more pressing matters to attend to. Like figuring out where the hell he is.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wip I've been holding onto. Tell me if it's worth pursuing!

Waking up is the worst part. For one, there’s always a headache involved. He can feel the familiar pulsing in the back of his skull and the only thing he can think is _Im alive_. He’s alive and he’d rather not be because gods everything hurts. The sun, or lights or whatever- seer into his eyes from behind closed lids, and everything hurts. He takes an experimental breath, only to feel a sharp, dragging pain in his chest. It feels like someone is dragging a knife on his side, and it brings a wave of nausea. That’s...probably a cracked rib. He stifles another breath. Make that two. Despite the constant pain and threat of vomit, he’s got more pressing matters to attend to. Like figuring out where the hell he is.

That’s always a fun one. He has a system, you see. A very intricate system with all the bells and whistles, yet can be surmised within a single sentence. Pain level indicates location. Genius, he knows. It wasn’t so much of a system as it was conditioning. The first time he was knocked out, it was in the kitchen. He’d done something stupid probably and gotten shoved into the wall for his troubles. His head was slammed into the tile and he was out like a light. When he’d woken up, the sky was dark and he was using the tile as a pillow. He’d bitten the inside of his cheek and drooled blood everywhere, but other than needing a bit of clean up, he was fine. 

The second time it was much worse. He’d done...something. The specifics are lost in a thick fog of fear. Maybe he was too slow or fast, or maybe it wasn’t even his fault at all. In the end it didn’t matter, and he’d come too in his room, covers tucked sweetly around him. ( _Restraining him_.) There was an ice pack on his head, and an apology card on his dresser. He’d later find out that his humerus had been all but shattered.

Basically the worse he felt, the better off he’d be. It wasn’t fool-proof by any stretch of the imagination, but hey- he takes what he can get. 

And right now, all he’s getting is a headache. The light was just too bright. He groaned and tried to block it out by slinging an arm over his face. That’s his first mistake. Discomfort shifts to a white hot pain the seers through his chest and up his arm. He stops mid-motion, but the The pain was so intense he almost threw up then and there. He better be at a fucking Hilton after all this.

He peeled opened his eyes and noticed two things immediately: 

1) He wasn’t in at some beach paradise, but a hospital. An honest to god hospital. He even had a I.V. and everything. The place was white. And fancy, probably. He didn't have a frame of reference for this kind of thing, but as he rubbed the sheets between his thumb and forefinger, he could make the educated guess that they were worth more than all of his stuff combined. Hey, he wasn’t complaining. Mostly. It’s just the sound of the machines. Consciously he knows that they’re there to help, to fix him, but the constant low hum and incessant beeping has him on edge. Well that, and number 2.

2) He had a visitor. Or at least what he thought was a visitor was sleeping in a chair by the window. The boy had angled his elbow weirdly, pressing it into the sparsely stuffed armrest and using that to prop his head up. It didn’t look all that comfortable so the guy must be really freaking tired. He can relate if he’s being honest. Upon further speculation they had a few more things in common, for one their age. The mystery boy couldn’t be any older than himself, and his hair was just as unruly. But that’s where their similarities ended. The mystery boy’s hair was jet black, and his skin is clear, despite the general greasiness of their age range. He also looked way more exhausted than at cursory glance. Dark wedges seemed to drag the corners of his eyes downwards, and his breath was so slow and even, he was almost completely still. If he didn’t know better, he’d think there was a corpse in his room. This kid didn’t sleep much, he thought off handedly. That, combined with his dark, crumpled clothing makes him look like an emo who just got back from a rave. Yep, If he were to sum this mystery guy up in one word, he would have to go with emo. It just fits.

Despite not being able to see most of the room, he easily declares this emo kid as the most interesting part of it. Everything else was an unnerving white color, but at least this guy had a splash of color. His eyes are rimmed by the bluest blue he thinks he’s ever seen and it’s definitely way more interesting than the white walls and tile floors and-

“Hi.” Emo boy waves and he realises he’s been staring this whole time. He can feel what’s left of his blood flush his face, and oh wow that’s really embarrassing.

“Yea, it is.” The emo boy gets this self satisfying smirk on that he would love to wipe right off his face if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn't opened his mouth at all, which derailed his train of thought entirely. His first thought is that telepathy isn’t possible. Or at least it shouldn’t be. “Your right, it’s not.” But if it’s not telepathy then what else could it be? Morse-code? No, that doesn’t make sense, he doesn’t know the first thing about morse code, and definitely not enough to start conveying his thoughts subconsciously. “Yea I don’t know morse-code either,” he yawned, stretching his arms over his head like a cat in the sun, “although not for lack of trying. Try again.”

Sign language, “No.” Precognition, “That would be awesome, but no.” Mind reading? “Didn’t you already think of that?” the boy keeps interrupting his train of thought and it’s getting really freaking annoying.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to interrupt you so much If you'd stop talking to yourself.” The black haired boy smiles knowingly. 

“Oh,” Wow what a great first impression, “must be the pain medication.” The bedridden boy says, trying to salvage this very one sided conversation.

“I would say so too, but look at your iv.” The emo-looking boy points to the tall rack beside his bed that’s holding bags upon bags of what the other can only assume is blood and saline, then yawns, “You're getting nothing but fluids.”

“Oh,” Well shit, “must be the pain then.” The other gives him a cocky- if sympathetic smile and just kinda lets the conversation die down. He takes the time to think, careful to keep these thoughts to himself this time. He didn’t know this kid at all, but if he could tell that much with just a glance then he probably worked here...right? “So, uh… you a nurse?”

The boy snorts, “Do I _look_ like a nurse?” Now that he mentions it, no, not at all. Sure his all black attire is reminiscent of some kind of uniform, but not any kind he’s seen before.

“Uh, no? Not really.” Again: no frame of reference. “But if you're not a nurse...then are you here to kill me?” 

“No.” The boy frowns and crosses his arms across his chest. He actually looks kind of offended. “Besides, you’ve been knocked out for I don't know how long. If I wanted to kill you, don’t you think I would have done it _before_ you woke up?”

“You have your point, but how would I know that.” He resists the urge to shrug, instead crossing his arms as much as he physically can, subconsciously mimicking his guest. “I don’t even know your name.”

At that, the other’s arms drop to his sides and it's a fascinating experience to be able to watch someone else’s thoughts change in real time. The way that his frown melts into that of shock is absolutely priceless. God he wishes he had his camera right about now.

But he doesn’t and the moment passes with little fanfare. Emo boy scratches his cheek in a kind of bashful manner, “Well, I’m Noct.” Arms behind his head, he leans back against the wall with an easy going smile on his face. “Now you know.”

He keeps quiet, turning this new piece of information over in his mind. Noct...cannot be his real name. It just can’t. He looks up abruptly, when the other kid clears his throat, looking at him expectantly. Then, Noct sighs, “Usually when someone introduces themselves, they get a name back.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “but all I can imagine is you being born and your parents sighing ‘oh no, _noct_ another one.”

The other boy, Noct, pulls a face, “why do they always do this…”

It only fuels the fire “What if I'm _Noct_ like other people?” He starts to laugh at his own joke, but the pressure from his lungs shifts something in his chest and he’s forced to stop short. 

Noct pulls a face before pinching the bridge of his nose “Don’t.”

“What do you mean? It’s _noct_ like I’ve done anything wrong.” He forces down that self satisfying feeling that came with every bad pun down else he’ll laugh and his ribs _really_ start screaming in protest.

Which is sort of ironic, as the boy in front of him looks about one pun away from actually screaming. Yet instead of screaming, Noct manages to extract his face from his hands to reveal a hard frown. “If you didn’t want to tell me your name, you could have just said so.”

Well that- that wasn’t true at all. The bed-bound boy would have loved to give noct a name-if he had one to give. He had numbers, a designation, and was sometimes called _it_. But those are labels at best and a brand at worst. His eyes catch Noct’s- if only for a moment, before his gaze drops to the floor again, clearly put out. 

And it makes him anxious, because as much as he wants to follow orders and do as he’s told, he also “I- uh. My name. It’s...complicated?”

Noct fixes him with a flat look.“It’s a name, not a social security number.”

“Well you only gave me a nickname!” He snaps, before adding, with a smile, “That's _noct_ fair.”

The tired teen doesn’t acknowledge the pun, not directly anyway, but he does sigh and souch halfway out of his seat, so it counts it as a win. “If you didn’t want to tell me your name you could have just said so…” ...And immediately counts it as loss when his newly-made aquaniance’s face suddenly drops.

“I’m just kidding! My names...uh...Prompto!” He introduces himself a little too loudly, silently praying that the random syllables he said sounded like a name. 

The other boy- Noct- bends an eyebrow, as if disturbed by his sudden shout. It makes him want to sink back into the covers again. “...is that forigen?”

“...yes?” He hadn’t meant to say it with the infliction of a question, but he wasn’t even sure himself. Noct looked as impressed as he sounded sure, and that terrified him. He started to panic, “It’s a nickname! Not that it matters but yea, mhm, yep that me. Prompto. Is my name. It’s nice to meet you!” It’s all said so fast that for a moment, prompto’s eyes blur and his chest begins to hurt but all he can think to do is _salvage the situation._ And hopefully think of a better codename later. 

His floundering is enough to get Noct to roll his eyes and chuckle into a yawn. “Nice to meet you too. Now can I go back to sleep?” 

He’s disappointed, but nods anyways, watching as the sleepy boy flops back down into the chair opposite him. Still, curiosity gets the best of him and he has to ask, “Why not just go home and sleep there? I bet your bed is way comfier than that old thing.”

Noct just lets a sly smile playing on his lips, “And miss meeting you? Not a chance.” That sentence alone is enough to plaster a smile on Prompto’s face, despite his head splitting headache, and the pain that racks his whole body any time he even attempts to move. And the whole “waking up in a strange place” thing. It’s kind of hard to forget that part.

Still it could be worse. He could be alone right now. Could be bleeding out all by his lonesome. And considering how much machinery he’s hooked up to right now, he could have easily never opened his eyes ever again. Still, he takes a second to take in his current setting. The sterile white walls and tiled floors, the window looking out into the night of the city below, and the boy, curled up in the chair before him, keeping him company. And he figures that it could be worse. Much...Much worse. “Ok, good night.”

“...see you...later.” And he knows that Noct is like half asleep already (he can practically see the drool pooling onto the armrest), and he probably shouldn’t even be listening to the ramblings of a sleep-deprived teen, much less get his hopes up over said ramblings. But there might be a small part of him- and by small he means, tiny. Miniscule. Negligible. The slightest, most trivial part of himself that he could still recognize, holds onto that promise, and he falls asleep feeling better than he had in a long time.

And when dawn breaks and he finds himself alone in a sterile room with nothing but a dragging pain in his chest and the insistent sounds of machinery keeping him company, he wonders if he just dreamed the whole night up. If Noct, or whoever his drugged-mind decided to dream up was just some hallucination. If he was really just that lonely and desperate and stupid. Or if the boy he met was in fact real, and just decided that being friends with an invalid just wasn’t worth his time.

It hurts less to think it was all a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto almost cries. Alot. So it's a pretty normal day for him.

It’s late morning when the door to Prompto’s room opens and he fake-passes out. It's kinda a knee-jerk reaction to the whole “waking up scared and alone in an unfamiliar place” thing, plus it’s not that hard of a sell. He’s still kind of sleepy from that weird dream and he’s not really up to answering questions right now. It’s uncharacteristically easy to close his eyes, let his short, ragged breath even out, and lay completely still. Hell, he probably would have fallen asleep then and there if not for the creaking sound of the door’s hinges. The steps that follow are light but clack loudly against the tile, sparking a new headache with every stride. It’s two people, he notes as the sounds of their steps begin to syncopate with one another. Well someone’s in a hurry to see him, but why?

As the two come closer, their conversation becomes less muffled nonsense and more clinical nonsense. “...MRI shows several broken ribs along his right side,” says a woman, sounding very professional, “and while his pneumothorax is healing remarkably quickly, I would still like to keep him in the hospital and under my supervision for- at the very least another month or so.” 

“Are you certain it’s so serious?” This voice is a man’s, who was either  _ very _ old, or had just woken up. His voice was harsh in Prompto’s ears.

“Yes.” The woman answers, voice taking on a much harsher tone, like a teacher scolding the problem child. “Please keep in mind that we have only just recently removed his chest tube-” His  _ what?  _ “-And he has yet to respond to external stimuli. It would be extremely risky to move him now.”

“Fine. Whatever he needs, get it done.” There’s a hand in his hair now and he hopes that his flinching isn’t obvious as it combs through the matted mess in an almost comforting way. “But I am expecting your complete discretion.” The older man addresses his companion, much to Prompto’s relief.

“This facility is as covert as they come.” She could bottle that confidence and sell it with how self-assured she sounded in that moment. The man is less convinced, he assumes, because not a moment later the woman sighs, exasperated. “I promise, everything in this room will stay in this room. You have my word.”

“I should hope.” Is all the reply he hears before the echoing sound of shoes hitting title and the whine of the door hinges is heard.

“You,” The man says as his grip suddenly tightens and a nauseating wave of pain rolls Prompto as he is dragged into a sitting position by the hair. “You cannot die. This life does not belong to you.” It’s whispered into his ear like a promise, and it’s all he can do not to react. Not to move and give him any more reason to feel the pain he was feeling in that moment. He stops resisting that pain in his chest, that dragging, ever present pain that came with every breath, and leans into it. The world retreats into darkness and he lets it leave him behind.

+++++

The next time he opens his eyes, It’s exactly like before. Noct is sitting in that chair opposite the medbay, this time with one foot planted firmly on the seat and the other stretched out before him like a cat bathing in the moonlight. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Oh, hey,” Prompto tries to hide the utter relief he feels behind a yawn, “You- your back.”

“Yea? Didn’t I say I was going to yester-” The other boy stops mid sentence, blue eyes squinting at him through the darkness. “Are you crying?”

Yes. “No.” Noct squints harder. “Im being serious! It’s just really cold in here and it’s making my eyes water.” He still doesn’t look totally convinced, but there are few things Prompto would rather talk less about than his creeping abandonment issues. So he changes the subject so something less emotionally personal and more physically personal. “Hey, do you know what pneumothorax means?” 

At that, Noct’s inquisitive gaze is turned up towards the ceiling (thank god) in thought before he turns back to prompto. “Yea, it’s when you pop a lung.” Oh, oh shit ok. “Where did you hear that from anyways?” He asks, pulling Prompto from his premature panic attack. 

“I- uh, I heard a doctor say it. Earlier.” There’s no point in lying. But then again he also doesn’t really know what’s going on here anyways. Best keep his cards close to his chest.

Luckily, his awkward answer seemed to miraculously be the right answer, because Noct was increasing in his personal space until he was practically on his medical bed. “Wow, really?” he asked the living bruise. “I’ve only heard of that happening to like...really old, weak people.” He experimentally prods at Prompto’s arm, “I knew you were weak, but you can't be any older than I am…” He can’t help but flinch slightly at the touch and Noct Immediately pulls back, “Sorry, did that hurt?”

“Only my pride.”

“Well that’s a relief, I thought you wouldn’t have any once you realised you’ve been shitting in a bed pan this whole time.” Ok now his face is on fire and he tries to level a glare at his new friend (Friends? Is that what they were?). But it’s hard to be serious when just found out that he has a catheter in the absolute worst way possible.

He breaks first, letting a laugh bubble up in his chest and possibly pop the rest of his stitches. “That’s- that’s disgusting! I could have lived the rest of my life not knowing that!”

Noct’s laugh is much more subdued, practically silent, but he makes up for it with wide sweeping gestures. His hands clutch at his sides. “I’m sorry--,” He says between wheezes, “Everyone reacts differently, but I’ve never heard anyone laugh at that before-!”

There’s a feeling in Prompto’s chest- and it’s not pain for once. It’s light and tangible and forigen. He can’t place it and honestly, doesn’t want to. Eventually the laughter dies down enough for prompto to ask “So...you ask everyone about their catheters? Or am I just special.”

Noct shifts back on the heels this time, “I’ve only had the opportunity to ask twice. I’ll need a bigger sample size, but I’ll get back to you on that one.”

The need to ask questions flares up in the invalid, and not for the first time does Prompto realize that he knows absolutely nothing about this boy who- for the second night in a row- decided to forgo any semblance of a decent sleep schedule just to laze around and talk to him. He can’t help being at least a little curious about his new companion. He goes to ask the first half-formed question that pops into his pain-addled mind, when a small chime rings out from Noct’s general direction. 

Noct, for his part, looks far less alarmed than his companion, and pats himself down before producing this small black device from his back pocket. It lights up at the touch of his fingers, and he taps rapidly at its smooth surface. “Sorry, it’s-”

“What is that?”

Noct sends an incredulous look his way“...you don’t know what a cell phone is?” Look, Prompto knows what a phone is. They are bulky and gray and you shout into them, and they most certainly do not light  _ up _ . So whatever that thing is? It’s not a phone. At least he hopes it’s not.

So, Prompto, ever the one to be prepared for a situation in which his mouth runs off without him, panics. “What? Of course I do! Just… jog my memory again? Stop making that face I hit my head on the way down! Have you ever heard of amnesia? Because it's very confusing!” He’s rambling, and he knows he’s going off the cuff and it would be so easy just to shut up and completely shut down, but he honestly doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to risk scaring Noct off and not having these odd nightly conversations if his days are going to be spent  _ alone _ .

Luckily Noct doesn’t seem to pick up on his internal agony, and instead shrugs, “I can show you if you want.”

Prompto’s jaw snaps closed, and instead of risking that word vomit again, he nods. Noct leans over the bedside railing and it looks incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t complain- much, being too busy showing prompto the apps on his phone.

“So...why are you trying to save the princess?” Prompto asks after a while, eyes glued to the flashing light coming from the phone.

Noct creases his brow in thought for a moment, “Because she needs to be saved, are you telling me you wouldn’t save her?”

“I mean, of course I would! But like, it’s not like they give you much reason too.”

“Prompto, it's called  _ King’s Knight _ not  _ Romantic Romp through the gardens as the princess tells you her life story.” _

“Ok ok, jeez… what are those things they're riding?”

“Chocobo’s? They're just big yellow birds.” Noct, says, clearly not realizing the cruciality of his words, before pausing a second to tap at the bright icons, “See? They come in all different colors.” He smiles at Prompto like he hadn’t just hung the stars in the sky and ended world hunger while also rescuing some kittens from the highest branch in the tallest tree.

Ok, it probably wasn’t that earth shattering a revelation. But the cartoon knights looked so happily animated, bouncing along on their multicolored, feathered, companions so large and fantastical and- Noct is folded over the medical rails like a forgotten towel, but he looks genuinely happy to be there and- the steady, rhythmic sound of the medical machines melts away and Prompto has to wonder if- not for the first time- if this is what it’s like to have a friend.

“There are even more colors then the one’s in the game, too.” Noct says, completely oblivious to Prompto’s internal crisis, and instead switches to a new blank tab. He fumbles with the buttons a moment more before a new image pops up. This one of a Chocobo made real. It’s down coat looks so soft, and shines in hues of yellow that almost look golden. A man stands in profile with the bird, a wide brim hat hiding everything but a short tuft of blonde hair on his chin. That is what puts the sheer size of the animal into perspective. Its two heads taller than the man holding its reins and like magic- the picture moves. 

The rest of the night consists of Prompto begging Noct to show him more chocobos, and Noct switching from pictures to moving pictures (“Gifs” “Jifs?” “Prompto no-”) to zoo live streams of baby Chocobos (“Wha-why are you crying?!” “They're so round!!! I can’t take it!”) roosting with their mothers.

Prompto is half way through asking if there’s another video- this time of chocobo’s not sleeping, when he hears a light snoring and looks over to see his friend (Acquaintance? Companion? Bedfellow?) folded over the railing like a shirt left out to dry, snoozing away. Prompto sighs resigned to his fate of being an accessory to a narcoleptic. 

In truth, this is the first time he’s had the opportunity to observe Noct up close. Sure, they’ve spoken, even been fairly close before, but it’s different then the excitement of novelty melts into sleep's embrace. It makes everything that much more...intimate? He derails that train of thought as quickly as it comes, being a bit too physically tender for it’s mental counterpart, and instead focuses on the boy who’s dead to the world.

He looks tired but that’s no surprise. He always has that sluggish movement to everything he does, like all the sleep he’s missed is physically weighing him down, like water on the half downed. It’s a tacky thing that pulls everything down, like he was just waiting for the entire world to come crashing down. It pulls at his features, and even in sleep, he still looks tired.

Or maybe it’s none of those things. He’s never been one to wax poetic. Or write at all if he gave it much thought, but at the moment, he’s distracted by Noct, who’s drooling on the hospital blankets. “Gross…” Prompto sighs under his breath. He thought about pulling Noct up to save his back at the very least, but reconsidered. He didn’t have many whole ribs, and would like the ones he did have to stay intact, thank you very much. He opts to put one of his only two pillows under Noct’s head. It’s not much, but it’s better than it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finals are finally over!!! I feel like I can breath agaain.


End file.
